A Subtle Change
by NinjaMoose
Summary: America thinks he has met the girl of his dreams: Ivana. England is skeptical, France is overjoyed, and Russia thinks he's dead wrong, but as time passes will Russia find out who cursed him to a female body? America x Female!Russia
1. Chapter 1

Alright, let's see if I can handle a gender-crossed Russia in a fanfic... If you want a visual on Female!Russia, I've got a link to the offical drawing done of (her?)him on my profile.

I don't own Hetalia, NYC, or a limousine.

* * *

Alfred Jones hated limousines.

Years ago when the limousine first hit the roads, sure, they were awesome. It was the car to drive in for anyone who was anyone, and still is. But, as the initial shock wore off, Alfred found them lonely. When it's just him and the driver there's not much conversation going on. After a long day of preventing government mishaps and working on paper work, he wanted someone to talk to. Limos, no matter how cool, couldn't give that sense of closeness like a normal taxi could.

The New York sky rained. Night settled in hours ago, and as Alfred walked out of the government building to the waiting Limo, he glanced up at the sky. Clouds. Raindrops on his glasses. He thought about the space book he had on his coffee table in his apartment. It was late September so which constellations scattered the skies? Alfred huffed, his mind a blank. If he could see the sky he could find them quite easily but the freakin' clouds…

Alfred slid into the Limo and watched the scenery slide by as the limo speeded off. Fall in New York City could be beautiful. The trees dotted the city with vibrant reds, yellows, and oranges. The picture was relaxing. Every fall he rented out a government helicopter just to see it. The scene helping Alfred calm down before the big holiday rushes. But now, NYC looked like one big oil slick. Wet, dark, and cold. The rain gave it a slimy, oily look that made Alfred a little nauseous if he thought about it too long.

That was all there was to stare at. Oily New York, pitch black limo interior flickering with the streetlights, and the driver who was too far away to hear Alfred try to talk to him.

Alfred pressed his forehead against the window, melting the condensation with his body heat. They passed an alley.

He saw a gang fight.

Or at least that's what he thought it was. He only saw the alley for a second but it was for sure some sort of gang related activity.

And a woman.

Unlike the prostitutes or other women of ill repute that tended to hang out in dark alleys, this one wore something that covered more than what was legally required. America's Hero Sense kicked in. Why was a supposed normal woman with gangsters? In a dark alley? In the rain? In New York?

"STOP THE LIMO!!!!" Shocked, the driver brought the vehicle to a halt.

"Mr. Jones?" Alfred was busy rolling the window down.

"Not now! Gotta go save that lady!" Alfred jumped out of the limo through the window and took off to the alley.

The driver sighed. "Not again."

*.*.*.*

Rain water soaked Alfred's shoes and dampened his jacket. He ran as fast as his inhuman legs could go. Luckily the rain had died down to a drizzle, fog rising up to blot out the already cloudy sky. Ducking into the alleyway he saw in the limo, he noticed he was right.

Four gangsters. Bandanas covered their faces. Three of which had guns while the other, the one who looked most like the boss of the group, held a knife. His gun was probably concealed somewhere. Three of the gangsters turned and looked at him. They glared, and Alfred wished he had brought his gun with him.

His gun. In his suitcase. In the Limo.

Dang it.

Alfred looked toward the back of the alley were the boss stood, facing the woman he saw earlier. She was hidden in shadow but he could tell she was looking at the boss.

"Hey!" Alfred called out. He'd use his strength if necessary, no need to worry about the small fries. Time for the boss!

Said gangster leader turned around slowly and promptly fell flat on his face. Dark red liquid dripped off his temple. The other gangsters cried out and ran towards the woman in the shadows.

"Wait!" Alfred's voice didn't affect them. One of them knelt down by their boss while the others aimed and shot at the darkness. Alfred watched as they fired a full three rounds of bullets. The shots hurt his ears. His hands reached up to save his ear buds. Horrified, Alfred expected to hear a blood churning scream of the woman he failed to save.

It never came. The gangsters, in a fit of rage, used up all of their bullets. Someone spoke in a soft voice, dripping with a dark undertone. Alfred didn't understand what was said. One of the gangsters grabbed a nearby broken beer bottle and walked into the shadows.

A scream.

The gangster went flying and, comically in Alfred's opinion, landed in a dumpster. The other two gangsters watched and turned back to the shadows, both of them afraid to venture closer. With the mist from the rain blazing behind her, the woman dashed out at impossible speeds, out of the shadows, and decked the left gangster on the head with a bloody faucet pipe. The right most gangster lashed out at her and she dodged, skillfully. She struck him in the arm and the empty gun fell out of his hand.

Alfred watched her. The fog was too strong to see what all was happening. He no longer was afraid, rather excited. This lady could kick some serious butt! She moved with the skill of an expert fighter, someone who had been in a real brawl many times before. Her steps were sometimes backtracked but for the most part she moved with grace and agility Alfred had not seen outside of a professional dance routine.

The last two gangsters eventually met their match, face down on the cold alley pavement.

The woman took a deep steadying breath and hoisted the three remaining bodies into the dumpster with the first. She then dusted her hands on her dress and looked up.

She looked Alfred right in the eyes and gasped.

"Oh! Hey! Uh…." Alfred put his hands up, showing he meant no harm done. She looked terrified.

"That was some show!" Alfred put on his best hero smile and gave a thumbs up. The woman worriedly looked at him. "That was awesome how you beat them!" He walked closer to her and offered his hand.

"I'm-"

"America."

Alfred froze. How did she know he was-

"AHAHAHA!!! America? Who names their kid America?" _Nice cover up, Jones._ "I'm Alfred."

She didn't say anything.

"So…" Alfred was beginning to feel uncomfortable. "Do ya need any…uh…help at all? It's why I'm here."

The lady seemed to think it over. As she thought Alfred noticed she looked about as old as he looked, maybe a little older. Mid-twenties at most. She wore an old-time-y blue dress and simple flat shoes. A scarf draped her shoulders. Her hair was a little longer than shoulder length and was a weird blonde, platinum, and brunette mix he knew he saw somewhere before…

"Da. I need to go somewhere."

_Da?_ "Okay, sure. I can give you a ride." Alfred walked a little back out of the alley. "Limo's this way."

She hesitated a moment before following him out of the alley. The limo was parked right by the entrance, partially blocking traffic. Alfred opened the door for her but she walked around on got in on the other side. She still held the bloody pipe in her hands as they drove off.

Flash after flash of streetlight. Block after block of oily New York and awkward silence in the car. So much for conversation tonight.

"So, where are we dropping you off at?" _Please talk to me._

"The Russian Embassy."

"Huh?"

She threw him a glare. "The Russian Consulate. The one here in New York."

"Oh, there."

Silence.

"You from Russia?"

"I do not wish to speak."

"Cool, cool." That bloody pipe unnerved him. It filled the limo with a metallic smell that made his head hurt.

After fifteen minutes of dead silence they arrived at the Consulate. Before the Limo was even completely stopped, the woman opened the door and stepped out.

"Anything else I can do for ya?"

She shook her head. "Nyet."

"Okay…then. See ya?"

"Hopefully not."

Alfred rubbed the back of his head and signaled the driver to pull away.

The woman watched the sleek black limo speed off, oily as the city itself.

"America…You must not know."

* * *

Kinda gave away at the beginning who the woman was huh? XD

Not really shippy as of yet but give it time. Let's see what happens in Chapter 2!

If you have a moment a review would be nice! ^_^


	2. Grace Kelly

It's updated! Oh em gee!

Something new! For this story, each chapter is going to have a song to go along with it. This isn't turning into a Songfic. _(LYRICS WILL NOT SHOW UP IN THE STORY, DO NOT WORRY)_It does not fit the songs word for word, but the songs can be used for better understanding what is going on in the chapters. Make sense?

For this chapter: _Grace Kelly_ by Mika ( .com/watch?v=IHisFtYwf1Y )

* * *

Ivan twisted his hands around his water pipe.

The blood on it had long since dried, as dark red and brown spots and splatters. He traced the most vibrant red ones, the gangers' blood. The splatter barely had any mass to it, only as much as a sticker would, but Ivan's fingers liked the feel of the ridges all the same. The pipe's smooth, frigid texture felt relaxing in his hands when his fingers slipped off those ridges.

Or rather, "her" fingers.

Ivan tried to think of the positives of the situation he found "herself" in. The fight in the alley turned out to be more useful than previously thought. As soon as he arrived in New York, he had gotten lost. The small mob followed "her" for a few blocks, probably seeing a foreigner who knew nothing about New York as easy prey. Ivan took his time walking the street at night. The streetlights cast everything in a sickly yellow glow, everything out of the light was only murky darkness. Every now and then, a raindrop would hit the top of his head or nose (which due to circumstances was slightly smaller and more feminine than his normal, most outstanding facial feature). Out of curiosity, Ivan turned and asked them for directions because he had somehow ended up in a part of New York he was unfamiliar with. They replied by backing him into a corner.

The start of the fight was nothing Ivan couldn't handle. "Her" hips gave him trouble though. Without his center of gravity, moving was difficult and awkward. The fight turned out to be a wonderful exercise for his new form. Movement was not as difficult now.

He wished America had not shown up.

Luckily, America did not seem to recognize him as a "her." After all, America was a suspect…

Ivan sat down on the bed in his room at the Russian consulate. The bed creaked quietly as he made himself comfortable. He took out the smeary paper that had led him to New York. The ink blobbed in strange places due to rain drops and a minor vodka spill.

**RUSSIA!**

**YOU **(smear) **! HA! I GOT YOU GOOD THIS TIME!**

(Rather large smear) **FIX THIS? GO TO N**(smudge) **YORK!**

(Another smudge)**A**

No matter how many times Ivan looked at the paper, it remained the same. He set it down on the bed comforter, the dirty white of the paper clashing against the deep brown and red swirls on the fabric.

Honestly, he had no idea what to do now that he was in New York. Saying the city was huge was an understatement. Luckily he did not need to search everywhere, just places that other countries would frequent. After all, the note writer did call him "Russia". To humans, he was simply Ivan.

And then there was the letter "A" at the end…

Ivan's head started to hurt, and when Russia's head started to hurt, there was only one option.

With his coat wrapped awkwardly around him (his new shoulders didn't fill out the coat as well and his chest was a little tighter than normal), Ivan headed out once more. He vaguely remembered seeing a liquor store a few blocks back, and though he did not know what brands they would have, he hoped that they had something remotely like his favorite vodka.

How late was it? Or rather, how early? The city was fading from the black and yellow to a warm grey, the mist dissipating, and the sun's first rays coming up over the horizon. The air was cool, but not overly so, and Ivan liked it. He buried his girly chin in his scarf, enjoying the contrast of heat on his neck and cold on his face.

It was strange seeing the streets mostly empty. A few homeless people stared at "her" but did not approach. Occasionally a car would zip past, blowing her hair with the breeze, exposing her ears to the elements. Ivan shivered.

He looked up and saw a red neon sign with a familiar word: Liquor. Or at least that's what he assumed it meant since the "u" was not lighting up. A bell rung as he walked in and the scruffy looking cashier looked up from his magazine.

"Hello there, miss."

"Hello." Ivan quickly scanned the isles he could see. Beer, wine, whiskey… There it was! Vodka! With a smile, Ivan walked down to the set of bottles.

Part of him twitched.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ivan saw the cashier staring. Centuries of people watching his every move trained his own eyes to catch subtle messages in other people's movements. This man was staring at his…his hips?

Ivan turned. "What?"

The cashier played dumb, "S-something wrong, lady?" Obviously, he knew he had been caught. His eyes were looking away now, the small smirk slipping away from his mouth.

"Do not stare at me." Ivan hated his new voice. It was so much more feminine sounding than his normal one, especially if he was commanding. His point seemed to get across regardless, as the cashier ducked his head in shame.

Ivan grabbed two bottles that looked similar to the brand he drank back home and walked to the counter.

The bell rang again.

Both the cashier and Ivan looked at the door and Ivan almost dropped the vodka. A tall, handsome man with wavy blond hair practically strutted in to the store. He wore designer leather shoes, tight fitting dark pants, and a soft looking silk blouse, open at the top, revealing his chest.

The cashier looked a little confused, "What's up, man?"

The blond flashed him a beautiful, if a bit flirty, smile. "_Bonjour_. Are these your wines?"

"Uh… yeah." The cashier blinked, obviously not used to someone as fancy as this strange, foreign sounding man in his store. The Frenchman hummed to himself as he scanned the selection. Ivan's reflexes suddenly returned to him, shock over, and he rushed to the counter. The cashier rang the bottles up and told Ivan the total.

The Frenchman turned, his eyes flashing something Ivan didn't like. "Oh, I did not realize there was such a beautiful woman in here as well…"

Ivan flinched. _Do not come over here, France…Do not-_

Francis was suddenly in front of him and took "her" hands in his own, "_Bonjour_. Allow me to introduce myself."

Ivan rolled his eyes, "Francis Bonnefoy."

Francis looked shocked, "You know my name?"

"Da. I know much about you, _France_." Ivan pulled his hands away and shot Francis a glare, picking his paid vodka off the counter and heading for the door.

Francis grabbed his shoulder, "Who are you? Surely I would remember a rose such as you?"

"I- I am no one." Ivan ran out of the store.

Francis followed. "Wait! Do you need a ride back home? I am more than willing to help someone who helped me…"

"I did not help you…"

"Oui, you did." Francis grabbed his hands again. Ivan blinked, his eyes failing him as roses floated around them. "You brought light into my eyes before even the sun today."

Ivan stepped on his foot.

"OW!" He felt a swell of satisfaction at the sight of Francis in pain, sputtering swears in French, foot in one hand, and hopping around. Ivan spotted a taxi a few feet away, the driver watching them both.

"Da. I will ride with you. But you are not to come anywhere near touching me." Francis groaned as she slipped into the taxi.

"To the Russian Consulate, please." Ivan sat back in the seat as Francis got in on the other side. He looked at her.

"…"

"What?"

"Do…Do I know you?"

"Nyet. I already told you, I am no one."

Francis stroked his chin and leaned closer. "But you are so…familiar. You are obviously Russian, oui? That hair color..those gorgeous eyes…That scarf-OOF!" His head jerked to the side as Ivan's hand struck his face.

"I am no one."

France continued to stare, rubbing at his cheek absentmindedly. "…I do not believe you, mon cheri. You see, I have years of experience reading the body language of men and women," He took Ivan's hand again. "And you, you move like someone with a secret."

Ivan stared ahead, avoiding eye contact with the Frenchman. Making eye contact would only egg him on. In fact, being silent would be an even better idea.

France groaned pathetically, pretending his feelings were hurt. "You are ignoring me?" He dramatically placed his hand on his forehead and tilted his head back, "Mon cheri, I am hurt."

"…"

"Well, now I know for sure you are someone very special."

Out of reflex, Ivan turned and looked at him, and immediately regretted it. France smirked at him. "You resist my charms, but I am glad you finally looked at me again. I was missing those beautiful eyes…"

"I. Am. No one!" In a split second, Ivan pulled back his smaller-than-normal fist and slammed it against Francis's nose.

Francis covered his face and groaned in pain. There were very few women who had hit him harder than this mysterious woman just did, but he was not ready to give up hope yet. So the direct approach wouldn't work? Fine. He leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs elegantly and casually folding his arms over his chest.

"You remind me of an acquaintance of mine."

"…"

"Will you at least tell me your name?"

A name for his female self? That did make sense. He had not thought of one yet.

"I…Ivana."

"Ivana…? That is a lovely name. Though…"Ivan" suits you more, _oui_?"

Ivan gasped and Francis chuckled. "I am no fool, _Russie_. You may be in a new body, but you are still the same man, so to speak. Besides," He rubbed his sore nose, "only someone such as you would punch like that. How did it happen, if I may be so bold to ask?"

He figured it out… Well, there was no use denying it now. After all, France didn't blab to the store owner. Maybe he would keep his perverted mouth shut to anyone that wasn't involved.

…Who was involved anyway? Other countries…?

"…Why are you in New York, France?"

"So formal, _Ivana_… Well, Alfred is holding a little "family get together" if you will. I am here for it as well as Arthur and my dear Matthew, and our bosses. Now about your body…"

Ivan rolled his eyes. It was always physical with this man… This was interesting though, and an idea hit him. England was well versed in all topics occult. Maybe the Englishman would be able to help him change back. That would make hunting for the culprit at least a little easier, moving in his own body instead of a female one. But getting close to England meant getting close to America. America had not recognized him but France had. Maybe that was because the alleyway was dark. He couldn't see properly. What if America found out? The two were still on shaky ground. Politeness semi-forced, and America still had the habit of calling him a "commie"…

Besides, the smudgy letter was signed with a name that ended in "A". America ended in "A", so wasn't it a logical assumption that America could possibly be the culprit behind his curse? It would be someone whose ego was so big that they felt the need to leave a name behind after such a horrible act.

After contemplating with himself, Ivan decided, yes, the risk was worth it. He wanted his body back.

"France, tell the driver to take me to where you and England are staying."

Francis smiled slyly. "Oh? I am sure we would be very glad for you to join us…"

Ivan ignored the underlying meaning. No way would he allow Francis's thoughts to become reality, but he couldn't help but feel like this horrible mess was on its way to being fixed.

* * *

And chapter 2 is done! :D I'm not sure why but I like having France show up at the most unfortunate moments. Next chapter: Will England recognize Russia like France did? Will America? Will Canada be noticed? Find out next chapter!

*runs off to work on BSM again*


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